


I Can't See Me Loving Nobody But You For All My Life

by Unknown



Series: Enjolras Is Not Oblivious (Much) [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: "Bousset", Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Baby!Fic, Embarrassed, F/M, I mean, I'm Sorry, Kid!Fic, M/M, Mpreg, also, and by wrote, and i am horribly, anyway, for these two, however you wanna put it, i can't keep it up for long, i couldn't find, i made a verse out of it?, i write too much of mpreg, i'm not that good, i've been spelling bossuet, like whoops, m-preg, my bad - Freeform, not my intention at all, only two parts though, or - Freeform, or his spirit, please forgive me victor hugo, so i wrote some, so phew, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown/pseuds/Unknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is that Enjolras loves babies, but he tends to come on to strong when he's around them because he gets so excited. He manages though, after a while, and kids warm up to him. </p><p>The other problem is that Grantaire doesn't know this, and that he's good with babies on instinct, but he's terrified of having his own and screwing them up. And anyway, ain't nobody got time for that shit when he's over here, pining after his fearless leader that has actually started showing an interest in him. And going on what he thinks (hopes?) are dates with him.</p><p>And then he has that heat thing. And then they have sex.</p><p>And then, of course (because his life is a fucking cliche), he gets pregnant.</p><p>Let the panicking begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't See Me Loving Nobody But You For All My Life

**Author's Note:**

> I should be pod!fic-ing two separate stories. 
> 
> I should be writing an Inception Dreamhusbands fic for a friend.
> 
> I should be writing a Teen Wolf Sterek fic that took a lot of research.
> 
> Bottom line, I should be doing a lot of things. Instead, I'm doing this because the inspiration to write hasn't hit me like this in a long time and it's also my first day of summer. And, I mean, c'mon. A guy's gotta write. If he doesn't, then what was the point of waiting almost a year for my spot in this place?
> 
> I thought so. Without further ado - except to tell you that the title comes from the song So Happy Together by The Turtles - here is the fucking fic that I wrote while I was jacked up on coffee. God. Never again. Hyperactivity and caffeine _DO NOT_ mix. That is all.

Here’s the problem. Enjolras loves kids. He does. This surprises a lot of people because he’s all about The Cause and getting people their freedom and all that other stuff, so people sometimes forget why he does it. He’s a poli-sci student at university for Christ’s sake, and an Alpha at that, another fact people sometimes forget since he’s huge on Omega rights. It’s instinct for him to want a mate, instinct for him to want to breed. Children and the future generation are also the reason why he fights so hard for the freedoms he supports.

Here’s another problem: he sucks with kids. Okay, that’s being a bit dramatic. He doesn’t _suck_ -suck with kids. He’s just overeager with them, so it intimidates them a bit at first. Babies will cry and toddlers will run when he first gets down to their level. But after a few minutes of him making a complete fool of himself, kids will realize he is completely harmless and fun to hang around. They warm up to him eventually. But that’s not the point. The point is that Enjolras loves kids. He totally does. It makes some part of him warm and content to think that one day he’ll be a father, that he’ll have children of his own. He wants to pass on his legacy, of course he does, but it’s something else. To have a small person totally dependent on him, to be needed in a whole new way, to have someone’s love without trying – literally just because he helped create them. God, he’d have created them. With someone else, of course, but he’d have literally helped make a tiny human being and he just wants that. He really does.

The next problem he’s faced with: finding a mate. Well, it’s more approaching the best mate for him, which is kind of a problem for him at the moment. See, he’d been thinking a sweet Omega with a neutral disposition, willing to support him in all that he does. Instead, his instincts go completely nuts for Grantaire, Les Amis’ (his political group) resident cynical drunk. Grantaire is the opposite of what he thinks he wants. Grantaire drinks far too much. He’s in school for an art degree, which, let’s be honest, what the hell does one _do_ with an art degree? He’s also completely against The Cause, so it confuses the shit out of Enjolras as to why he sticks around with Les Amis in the first place. And he argues with Enjolras all the time. Enjolras brings up a point and Grantaire tears him down.

The flip side, Enjolras is beginning to grudgingly realize, is that Grantaire is literally his opposite and will balance him out perfectly. Enjolras’ super intimidating seriousness is evened out by Grantaire’s occasional silliness and complete lack of severity. Where Enjolras is all strict argument, Grantaire has the raw energy that comes with the arts to be out of this world and free. Enjolras can be overbearing, while Grantaire has a way to get under one’s skin without really trying. And Grantaire is smart, which is why he can argue with Enjolras so well. He is an actual match to Enjolras’ arguments and shows Enjolras what exactly he’s up against when he faces nonbelievers out in the real world. Grantaire helps him fine-tune his arguments, helps him tailor him to his audience. He’s brilliant at it and Enjolras actually likes that about him. Not to mention his supreme creativity. He’s seen some of the art that Grantaire is capable of, and although Enjolras is not a hardcore lover of art, he can appreciate talent where he sees it. Grantaire, needless to say, has talent.

On top of that, he’s a loyal friend, has stuck around for the few years Enjolras has known him despite how he’s been treated. He’s gone to every single rally, every meeting at the Musain even though he has no interest in Enjolras’ agendas. He’s the first to lend a helping hand, the first to speak his mind. He’s unafraid, some would say, but Enjolras knows it’s just that he’s taken great care not to believe in anything. It’s not a horrible thing, Enjolras thinks when he looks at Grantaire. He can live with that because it makes him strive to get Grantaire to believe in something, _anything_. He always has a purpose with him, and that’s what Enjolras needs in a partner. He needs purpose.

There’s another plus about Grantaire that he can’t bring himself to ignore: he’s amazing with children. Just the other day Les Amis had gone to one of the Children’s Community Centers in town to pay a visit to the kids and their parents, hoping to win a few people over. Grantaire had made the majority of their converts possible with his efficiency with children. Something in Enjolras’ chest had tightened at the sight of Grantaire running around an indoor playground with a herd of five year-olds, playing tag and whatever else it was children played these days. He’d had to swallow several times at the sight of him pushing little girls on the swings, going higher when they asked, smiling like he was in complete bliss to just be at their beck and call.

Enjolras needed to actually take a step outside and breathe when a mother had asked Grantaire to hold her practically newborn baby as she signed one of Joly’s health waivers. Grantaire had let the little thing lay her head down on his shoulder as he swayed back and forth rubbing a hand up and down her back, hushing her to sleep, the baby curling her small fists in his shirt. He’d had a small smile on his face the entire time and the mother had stopped to coo at the sight, taking a picture for good measure. Grantaire is a natural with children, Enjolras has realized. All parts of him –the revolutionary, the Alpha, the everyday man – can find no fault in Grantaire, only see perfection in him as his other half.

It’s just… it’s been years since they first met. On top of that, Enjolras has not been the nicest person to Grantaire. If he gets involved with the man, it’s going to be forever. They are going to disagree and they are going to fight about things, but that’s the reason why they’ll work. He’s going to hate things about Grantaire and he’s sure the other man is going to hate things about him, but he knows for a fact that they can get through that. They do it every day. Not to mention that he doesn’t want Grantaire thinking he wants to be with him just because of natural instinct. Yes, it is part of that, because his inner Alpha is wholly convinced that Grantaire is the perfect Omega for him, but it’s more than that. He himself as a man finds things about Grantaire attractive – finds Grantaire  himself attractive, despite (or because of) his many flaws that seem to fit so perfectly with Enjolras’.  He’s been so consumed with The Cause that he’s never noticed any of it, or at least refused to notice it, until now.

It’s just convincing Grantaire of this that seems to be the new problem.

Add that to the list, then.

…

Enjolras decides he is going to do this the old fashioned way.

It’s a Thursday evening after a Les Amis meeting at the Musain. He and Grantaire are the only ones of the group left at the Café at this late hour. Enjolras packs up his things into his leather satchel, a gift from Marius and Cosette for his birthday last year. Grantaire is in a dark corner, packed about into a booth finishing a charcoal sketch. When Enjolras finally gets the courage to look up, he sees the Grantaire hasn’t seemed to notice that the meeting is over. He is completely absorbed in his art work, a sliver of his pink tongue poking out of the side of his mouth, his lips pursed around it. There’s a small furrow in his brow, barely covered by his burgundy beanie, his curls rebelling and spilling out from beneath the hat and falling into his eyes. He takes a swipe at them absentmindedly, getting charcoal smudged on his forehead and cheek, his cheekbones suddenly becoming starkly prominent against the pale skin of his cheeks. His fingers are blackened by the charcoal, the dark stain making its way underneath his short fingernails.

Enjolras hates to break him out of his reverie; he looks beautiful like this, without a wine bottle at his lips or his hands wrapped around a mug of beer. He’s pure creation right now, and this is the side of Grantaire that Enjolras knows his completely human side can fall in love with easily.

He walks up to his table anyway, his satchel slung over his shoulder. After taking a deep breath, he taps the tabletop, hoping to get the other man’s attention. Grantaire jumps, his head shooting up with a startled look on his face. Grantaire looks like he’s been caught in the act. Enjolras can’t even begin to fathom why, but there it is. Instead he clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something. Nothing comes out though, and for the first time in a while, he feels completely unprepared.

Grantaire knows what to say though. “The great Apollo at a loss for words?” He chuckles softly. “I am agog, I am aghast. Have I bested him at last?” he says, his voice a quiet sing-song. The tone is slivery and soft, high pitched and angelic. Enjolras instantly knows the man can sing, and quite well at that. He’s got a lovely smile on his face that says he hasn’t been drinking and Enjolras can’t muster up any anger at being mocked.

“Not quite,” he says back, sliding into the booth with him. If it’s possible, Grantaire’s face looks even more shocked. Enjolras is willing to hazard the look is better described as stupefied. “What are you working on?” he asks.

“Why do you care?” Grantaire immediately snaps, holding the sketchbook close to his chest. Enjolras feels like shit at that; has he really neglected Grantaire to the point where it’s out of the blue that he asks about his art? Has he really treated him so badly? In all honesty, he probably has. He doesn’t doubt his cruelty in the least.

“I’m interested,” he says, painfully honest. Grantaire looks unsure, and Enjolras suddenly wants to erase the look from his face, feels horrid because he’s the one who put it there. To be honest, he’s actually running out of patience to top it all off. “Oh come now, let me see it. The shocked school-girl act is getting old, quite frankly,” he says, slightly snappish, and Grantaire smiles.

“There’s the Apollo I know,” he says, sounding relieved. “You scared me for a moment there.”

“Don’t call me that, first off,” Enjolras says, though secretly, somewhere deep down he’s sure, he doesn’t mind the nick-name all that much. “And secondly, let me see it. Unless it’s a nude, I have no mind for that.” He doesn’t, not really.

“It’s a nude,” Grantaire says with a mischievous grin. Enjolras swats him upside the head, not too hard because he’s honestly just joking around, and Grantaire snickers. “Fine, fine. But no judging.”

 He hands the sketchbook over timidly and with great care, as if he still isn’t sure about letting Enjolras see it. Enjolras promises not to make those fears a reality as he takes the book just as carefully and looks at the dark lines on the crisp white sheet with an open mind. He is not expecting to see himself reflected on the page, arm up in the air as he lectures, a violently passionate look on his face. The sketch is only from the waist up, so the picture is quite close, capturing sufficient detail to make it look rather realistic. For a moment, Enjolras is speechless, actually speechless. He licks his lips, his eyes flicking up to where Grantaire is sitting, fidgeting as his teeth worry at his bottom lip.

“It’s…” he says and trails off. He’s honestly surprised, pleasantly so, and has no idea how to react to this. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he ends up saying instead.

Grantaire’s eyes widen as his eyebrows arch. “Really? If that’s the reaction a sketch of you receives, then I would have shown you ages ago.” His tone is bordering snarky, but he looks honestly relieved. Then something seems to register with him and he says, “Wait, are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Enjolras says, putting the sketch on the table between them.

“I…” It’s Grantaire’s turn to be speechless. “Who the fuck put you up to this?” he says, his tone turning dark. He stands up in a rush, his charcoal pencil going flying. “Because it’s not funny.”

Enjolras is at a loss, honestly has no idea what the hell has gotten into his drunken friend. “I’m not following. You think… someone has what, paid me to do this?”

“How much?” Grantaire asks, genuinely interested. “Was it Eponine? Or maybe it was Marius, I knew I couldn’t trust the little shit, no matter how well-meaning he was.”

“What in the name of everything good are you talking about? Have you been drinking?” Enjolras asks suspiciously. He’d been so sure Grantaire was at least part-way sober today.

“No,” Grantaire says, sounding disappointed with himself. “But I’m starting to feel like I need a stiff one right about now.”He rubs his face, suddenly looking completely exhausted. A fierce protectiveness arises in Enjolras at the sight. He wants to wrap Grantaire in a hug and hold him close. It’s a foreign feeling, if not unwelcome. “Let me get this straight – you actually want to take me out to dinner tomorrow night? Of your own volition?”

Enjolras didn’t know Grantaire knew what ‘volition’ meant. He doesn’t know a lot about Grantaire despite all the years his known him and the fact that they spend most of their days arguing with each other. It makes him feel suddenly uncomfortable. Or the first time in a while, he is at a disadvantage and he does not like the feeling of it.

“Yes,” he responds without hesitation because to hesitate just won’t do right now. “Would you like to come?”

“Of course I’d like to come, you idiot,” Grantaire says, rolling his eyes. He takes the sketch and signs something at the bottom corner. “I mean, I’m completely suspicious of your motives, you should know. And I don’t trust it. Actually, I’m wondering if you’re drunk, but I’ve been around you all night so I know you’re not.” He tears the page out of the sketchbook and hands it to Enjolras. His name is signed at the bottom, along with a mobile number. “But this is me, being a romantic fool and cooperating anyway, hoping you won’t stomp all over me later on.”

“Have people done that to you before?” Enjolras wonders aloud, wondering if he’s allowed to ask such questions yet.

Grantaire stares at him incredulously and then says dryly, while raising an eyebrow, “Yes. _You_ have. Repeatedly. Most days, actually.” Enjolras opens his mouth then closes it. Out of everyone he’s ever met, only Grantaire has been the one to reduce him to such a state. What the hell is he supposed to say to something like that? “Not that I haven’t deserved it on occasion,” Grantaire continues, seemingly oblivious. He closes his sketchbook and picks up his pencil as Enjolras stares. Packing away his things, he continues. “Then again, sometimes you’re just a gigantic dick.” He looks up and shoots Enjolras a crooked grin that’s part sad, part bitter.

“Sorry,” Enjolras says distantly. He swallows hard.

“You are, aren’t you?” Grantaire says, then chuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then Apollo – I mean, _Enjolras_.” He rolls his eyes. “Honestly.”  

Grantaire walks out, as though he isn’t entirely convinced that Enjolras is attempting to be genuine with him.

Enjolras will just have to prove him wrong, now won’t he?

…

They meet at the Musain the next night and take Enjolras’ car to a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant Grantaire has wanted to try out. Enjolras can’t help but notice that Grantaire is tense the entire drive there and is still that way by the time they’ve gotten a table and ordered. It’s super awkward and Enjolras can’t take it. He’s never been one to shy away from bringing a tough topic up.

“Are you not interested in me?” he says bluntly. He lifts and eyebrow. “Because if you’re not, that’s alright. Just because I’m an Alpha doesn’t mean I’m going to force you to be here with me. If you don’t want to, then you can leave. Just wait for your food and I’ll pay, then you can take it and go. All you need to do is-”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Grantaire says incredulously. “Just shut the fuck up. _Oh my god_ , you are serious about this, aren’t you?” It’s the first totally genuine smile Grantaire has given him in a while, and he’s sitting forward in his seat, leaning into Enjolras’ space. “I thought for sure you were fucking with me because you noticed that I’m completely pathetic and draw you in my spare time, but you’re honestly…”

“Into you,” Enjolras finishes hastily, then amends it. “I am interested in you.”

“I’m not interesting,” Grantaire counters.

“You. You are immensely interesting to me. Everything you do, the choices you make… it’s all interesting,” Enjolras says to him. He leans forward and swallows. Grantaire’s eyes are so fucking blue and clear. He literally wants to stare at them and then argue about the color, how it’s possible for that shade of blue to even exist. “Are you actually sober?” he says out of nowhere.

Grantaire sits back and he wants to smack himself. That was neither subtle nor appropriate. “Yes,” Grantaire says. “No matter how this went down, I actually wanted to remember it. Whether it was a… _prank_ or not.”

“Do you think I’d actually do that to someone? To anyone?” Enjolras says, a bit horrified.

“To me? Yes. To prove a point? Also yes,” Grantaire says. He looks away suddenly. “All the years we’ve known each other. Why now?”

“Why not now?” Enjolras says. But he sees that that answer isn’t good enough, he knows it isn’t. “It finally seemed like the time,” he says honestly. “I’ve been… caught up in things. They’re  going well for once. And you… You’re the only thing that seems to be catching my attention lately,” he admits quietly. He doesn’t say _I like your art_ or _you’re really great with kids_ or _I just want to learn you because you’re the one thing out of everything else that I do not understand_. But he does look Grantaire in the eyes and hopes the message gets across.

Something has to get through because Grantaire sits back with a surprised huff and looks at him, peers into his soul, almost. Enjolras feels horridly exposed and vulnerable, but that’s the whole point. He’s glad that it’s Grantaire that sees. At least it’s someone of his choosing.

“What do you want to know?” Grantaire asks shyly, finally, just as their food comes. They pause for a moment to get their dishes sorted out, the waitress looking chagrined for ruining what she rightly assumed was A Moment. Once she’s out of the way, Enjolras looks at Grantaire very seriously.

“Anything. All the things you’ve tried to tell me in the past that I’ve ignored. All the things you haven’t told your closest friends. Tell me what scares you, what makes you smile. Share your past and what you hope for your future. Explain to me how that brain of yours works and why you do the stupid things that you do.”

“So, what you’re saying is, basically, you want to know… everything,” Grantaire says softly, not looking up.

“Basically. If you’ll tell it to me,” Enjolras says, staring at him even though Grantaire still hasn’t looked up.

“How much time do you have?”

“For you? All the time in the world,” Enjolras answers.

Grantaire laughs and runs a hand through his curls. “Shit, I’m going to regret this.” He looks up, finally, surprised to find Enjolras already looking at him. “Okay. Fine. But it’s not all puppies and rainbows.”

“In all honesty, with you? I wasn’t expecting it to be.”

_

This is how they work.

Enjolras asks Grantaire out on Thursdays or Fridays so they can go out the next day, and Grantaire complains and refuses to believe he’s genuine but initially agrees. They go out the next day, whichever day it happens to be, and they talk. Grantaire talks, mostly, answering Enjolras’ questions and choosing little unknown places to eat.  Sometimes they go to the park and Enjolras buys them something from a street vendor and talks about his side of things, although he knows there’s no need, that Grantaire knows it all already. Sometimes they watch a film and argue about its worth and meaning afterward. He’s been over Grantaire’s flat when the man had a cold and couldn’t go out. Enjolras had stuck around and kept him company, watching horrible reruns of old TV shows and critiquing the hell out of them, Grantaire laughing so hard he’d had a cough attack. The man had repaid the favor when Enjolras had caught a stomach bug and he’d gone over and made soup for Enjolras, slowly bringing his fever down and keeping him company.

They still argue at meetings. Grantaire still drinks, though Enjolras likes to think he does it less, since they’ve started whatever the hell this thing is. He’s still cruel when he’s irritated and angry, still unflinching in his words and opinions. He has a feeling that Grantaire would lose all respect for him if he changed this aspect of himself. He still puts The Cause before everything else in his professional life, but Enjolras is slowly realizing that his personal life does not have to be involved with his professional life. He’s learned to separate them, and the freedom he has gained from doing so has given him so much more breathing room. He is so much happier, he realizes.

This goes on for months.

It does, Enjolras even loses count until Grantaire brings it up that it’s almost been six months since he asked him out in the café and jokingly states that Enjolras has yet to kiss him or make a move. It’s meant to be a joke, just by the way Grantaire says it, he knows it’s meant to be a joke. But Grantaire also sounds like he _believes_ it’s all a joke, like he honestly thinks everything Enjolras has been doing with him means nothing. It’s a strike to the heart and his pride that Grantaire isn’t taking him seriously, believes he can’t take Enjolras seriously. Like Grantaire believes he’s not worth anyone’s affections, especially Enjolras’.

It irritates him. Because honestly, all Enjolras has been saying to the damn Omega is that he is worth it. Why the hell can’t he get it through that thick, creative skull of his? Grantaire is smart, he’s proven it time and time again. Why the hell is he being purposefully dense about this? When it’s so important? This will definitely have to go down under the things that Enjolras immensely dislikes about him.

In a moment of irritated inspiration, Enjolras surges forward and kisses the man, right on the mouth. They’re out on Grantaire’s doorstep, after an especially successful date, and Enjolras is sick of his crap. He is sick of it. No, they are not what anyone was expecting, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. Yes, five minutes ago they had been in a serious, deep argument about health care of all things, but that doesn’t mean anything. That’s just how they _are_. So Enjolras makes a point and he kisses him, right on the mouth, right on his doorstep and tries not to think about how cliché he’s being because he doesn’t really give a shit at this point.

It’s when Grantaire lets out a little surprised gasp and kisses back that Enjolras knows he’s going to ask this completely wasted idiot to marry him. Oh, he can feel it in his bones, he has gone off and fucked himself over for anyone else, and he wants to be bitter about it, but he can’t be because he is genuinely okay with this. He is. He knows the proposal is going to be creative enough for Grantaire’s artistic side yet scripted to satisfy his own control issues, but either way it’s going to happen. Grantaire is _so_ stuck with his ass, and if he has a problem he really should speak now. Really. Like, push Enjolras off and tell him no thank you, sir.

But he doesn’t. Grantaire actually kisses him back for a breathless moment and then he takes a step back and looks at Enjolras with a new set of eyes, as if he can’t believe that actually just happened. Enjolras is so sick of that look, honestly. What the hell has Grantaire been thinking that he was doing all of this time? Enjolras does not waste his time. He doesn’t. If he had thought that Grantaire was a waste of his time, he wouldn’t have bothered. Grantaire knows this; Enjolras knows he knows this because no one knows him like Grantaire knows him, and that’s a fact. He doesn’t understand why Grantaire is trying to go against everything he knows. There is seriously nothing in his mind that can explain that little tidbit to Enjolras.

It’s starting to get a little ridiculous.

“What the…?” Grantaire says softly. But then he’s grinning like a fool, his cheeks red, one hand tugging on his curls, the other rubbing the back of his neck, and he looks drunk. He looks drunk on affection and emotion and Enjolras likes the look of this kind of drunk on him better than the look of actually drunk.

“Smile more, R,” Enjolras says softly, a hand coming up to stroke down Grantaire’s cheek softly. Grantaire looks at him and actually laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound. He bends a little and the laugh comes from his belly. When he looks up, his eyes are shining and he looks like he’s going to break down crying. It’s scary and it’s beautiful, leaving Enjolras feeling like he has a lot of power over this one man and that it is a huge responsibility, one he won’t be taking lightly because Grantaire matters. For once in his life, something besides The Cause matters, and while that is _scary as fuck_ Enjolras has never been one to back down from a challenge. He knows he’ll meet this one head on and he’s going to come out on top if it’s the last thing he does.

“I’m – I’m going to say goodnight and go inside before I do something monumentally stupid,” Grantaire says, a smile on his face still. Enjolras’ hand drops. “Like ask you inside or wake up and realize this is all a dream.” His teeth are worrying at his lip again and it’s like a smile is permanently plastered to his face. “Just… do me a favor, if this is real.”

“It _is_ real,” Enjolras cuts in, hoping he doesn’t sound desperate because he doesn’t do desperate.

“Shut up, and listen.”

“What?” he says, deciding he can humor this man, he can do it because he’d going to be doing it for the rest of his life and he’d mind as well start now.

“If this is real,” and he holds a hand up to stop Enjolras from protesting the reality of it all. “ _If_ this is real, don’t regret it in the morning. Please.” And then he darts forward to give Enjolras one last quick, chaste kiss and runs inside his apartment, slamming the door quickly behind him.

Enjolras stands on the stairs for a few more minutes, basking in the afterglow of their moment. No, he’s not going to regret it in the morning. He’s not going to regret it at all.

…

They don’t kiss often, is the new problem. Or at least to Enjolras is it. He wants so many parts of Grantaire, but there’s only so much the man will give him and Enjolras will just have to be okay with that. They do go out more often though. If Grantaire has a free moment, he’ll come hang around Enjolras’ flat with him, making lunch and cleaning around as Enjolras works on whatever the hell he’s knee deep in at the moment. When he snaps out of his reverie, he’ll drag Grantaire onto the couch with him, kiss him once and then leave it at that. He’s aching for Grantaire to initiate something, but he doesn’t so Enjolras never does more.

It’s different when Les Amis start to catch on that something is between them. Eponine just gives him a nod that is both threatening and reassuring, as if he’s doing the right thing. Combeferre doesn’t pry, but he does make it known that he isn’t adverse to the match. When Marius goes so far as to congratulate him, Enjolras makes it a point to say that it’s only been about seven months and that he needs to calm down.

Marius gives him the oddest look.

“What?” Enjolras snaps, not used to be on the receiving end of a searching stare.

“You guys are an Alpha and Omega, right?” Marius says and Enjolras nods, as if it wasn’t obvious. Get with it, Marius. “Then isn’t seven months like, a lifetime for you?”

If there’s one thing that Enjolras hates, it’s when stereotypes are brought up. If there’s one thing he hates more it’s when the stereotypes are accurate. “Shut up, Pontmercy,” he says instead, giving him a light shove with just enough threat behind it that Marius gets not to push.

Out of everyone, it’s little Gavroche that brings up what Enjolras is sure everyone is thinking.

“I thought you hated Grantaire?” he asks, a puzzled look on his little face.

“Gav!” Eponine exclaims, giving her little brother a small slap up the backside of his head. Gavroche makes a face but looks like he wants an answer. Enjolras sighs and gets down to Gavroche’s level, taking a deep breath.

“Sometimes,” he says slowly, and he can feel Eponine’s eyes on him, “sometimes, people mistaken one feeling for another. Especially if they’ve never felt it before. And sometimes,” he admits. “Sometimes, they’re just afraid of what they’re feeling and take it out on the person making them feel that way. Sometimes people are just too busy or blind to see things. Does that make any kind of sense to you?”

“I’m nine, _not_ nine months,” Gavroche says. “Yeah, it makes sense. You were scared of liking anyone so when you started liking Grantaire you decided to act mean so maybe you’d stop liking him. I don’t think it worked,” Gavroche says solemnly, patting Enjolras’ cheek and then walking off.

Behind him, Eponine laughs.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Enjolras says softly to empty air.

…

It’s nine months into whatever this is that things change. Grantaire looks sick, pale and clammy. He keeps rubbing at his back like it’s aching, and they’re at the park when Enjolras smells it. The scent is sweet and thick, making something curl in Enjolras’ stomach. He suddenly _wants_ and when he turns to Grantaire to ask him if he can smell it, he’s shocked to find Grantaire slumped over with a terrified look on his face.

“Grantaire?” he asks, his mouth suddenly going dry. The smell is coming from _him_.

“I don’t know…” He trails off and moans. Across the road, a man stops and cocks his head. He’s an Alpha, Enjolras knows. Betas don’t have heightened senses like Alphas and Omegas do. Only an Alpha would be able to smell an Omega going into heat.

Enjolras’ mind halts at that. Holy fuck, Grantaire is going into _heat_.

“Grantaire,” he chokes out, unable to move, needing to gain some control because he is not an animal. God he hates society so much right now. Do to the complete minority that Alphas and Omegas had become, education for them and their bodies had been nonexistent. It’s one of the issues that Enjolras fights tooth and nail for because of reasons like this. He’s an Alpha with zero experience and Grantaire is an Omega who he’s guessing has had no experience because all he can smell is arousal and terror, and it’s fucking with his head.

“I – I forgot,” Grantaire says, bitterly laughing and then wincing at whatever it is he’s feeling. “I forgot to take my suppressants.” He sounds incredulous and angry and just so, so sad. He looks at Enjolras. “You made me feel… comfortable,” he spits, his hands shaking as he doubles over, trying not to be loud in public. Another Alpha stops across the way, a woman this time, and she turns her head. Enjolras wants none of them touching Grantaire. “My body didn’t want to hide from you anymore,” he says quietly, then chokes on a sob.

If Enjolras looks at this logically, he can gain some control and get the two of them out of here. Because Grantaire has been on suppressants for most of his life since his heats started, his body is going to act out on the first heat it’s been allowed to have. The pleasure is going to be painful if it’s not taken care of and Grantaire is going to be terrified because he’s never experienced anything like it before. Enjolras cannot stand the thought of him being so afraid.

“I’m going to take you home,” Enjolras says, his voice sounding deadly calm. “And then we can settle this there. If we stay outside, someone is going to jump you and I might kill them for it,” Enjolras says honestly.

They aren’t far from Grantaire’s apartment, so Enjolras hoists Grantaire up and practically drags him there. He has to breathe through his mouth so he doesn’t smell Grantaire, but it doesn’t help much. He can hear the squelch of Grantaire’s jeans where they are completely soaked through as he gets painfully wet. Enjolras wants to pin him against a building and fuck him out in the open and it’s horrifying because _he has_ _no idea what he’s doing_.

Enjolras runs them up the stairs to Grantaire’s flat, hoping against hope that Grantaire doesn’t share a building with any other Alphas, or else Enjolras is going to get very ugly very fast. They make it up to the flat well enough, Grantaire silently sobbing as he opens the door. He collapses onto his knees and yells into the carpet when he gets inside, his whole body shaking and Enjolras has never felt more helpless in his entire life.

“Don’t let anyone else touch me,” Grantaire is begging. “Don’t, please don’t.”

“I would never,” Enjolras snarls, fiercely protective as he slams the door closed and locks everything up tight. He helps Grantaire up and half carries half drags him to his bedroom. He gently lets him on the bed, and then takes a step back. “How much does it hurt?” he asks softly, his voice sounding strained to even his ears. Grantaire sobs and shakes his head in response. “Do you want me to…? Can I help?” he asks, and Enjolras hates how needy he sounds.

There’s a moment when he’s sure Grantaire is going to say no and Enjolras knows he will walk outside and lock Grantaire in so he doesn’t get tempted to touch him. He feels desolate at the thought. But then Grantaire is nodding and whispering, “Yes, yes please. Enjolras,” and Enjolras is stripping out of his clothes so fast, already so hard for it. Grantaire weakly tries to undress, but Enjolras won’t have it. He does it instead, going slow and stripping off his shirt, then his sopping trousers and underwear. Grantaire has a steady blush up his entire body, his eyes are glassy and he feels like he has a fever. He’s beautiful; Enjolras is terrified.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Grantaire says and let’s out another pathetic sob, turning his head away in embarrassment.

“That makes two of us,” Enjolras says under his breath, hissing in relief as their skin touches, his chest pressed against Grantaire’s. “I’m going to take care of you,” he says on instinct, because of course he is. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” Grantaire whines.

Enjolras has no idea what to do first. He understands the mechanics of it, knew he’d need to know it both ways since his mate could have been either male or female, but he’s never had sex before. Especially driven by his heat-hazed mind. He doesn’t want to hurt Grantaire while simultaneously wanting to devour him. He just goes on instinct, doing what he’s always wanted to do. He kisses down Grantaire’s chest, murmuring nonsense against his feverish skin at an attempt to calm him.

“Where does it hurt?” he asks softly, knowing Grantaire will hear him.

“Everywhere,” he gasps. “Feels better when you touch me,” he admits breathlessly. “My – fuck, Enjolras. My hole, ugh, please. Help me,” Grantaire whimpers. Grantaire doesn’t beg; at least, Enjolras has never seen it. To see him reduced to this, to have his body betray him like this, God. Enjolras can’t even imagine it.

“Alright, alright,” he murmurs. “Shhh.”

Enjolras spreads Grantaire’s legs, and he goes willingly, moaning at the movement, his cock red and straining against his belly, stark red and flushed against the pale skin and dark thrush of hair there. Enjolras is methodical, tries to keep it together for the both of them so he doesn’t mess up, and he kisses at the crease of Grantaire’s knee as he bends down to inspect the damage. Grantaire’s hole is bright red, sloppy and open. He moans at the sight, shocked at the sounds he’s making, at how hard he is at the sight of it, leaking clear fluid. Enjolras can feel the heat coming off of Grantaire in his arousal.

“Fuck,” he mutters and Grantaire groans at the feel of his breath on his more sensitive parts. Enjolras pets his flanks, lifting Grantaire’s hips up as he comes out of his bend. Grantaire clutches at the sheets, and Enjolras rests one of Grantaire’s legs on his shoulder at the junction of his knee. With his free hand, he easily slots three fingers inside Grantaire.

Grantaire goes wild. He gasps then pushes back on Enjolras’ fingers, wiggling his hips. Enjolras watches him for a moment, the glistening sheen of sweat on Grantaire’s body mesmerizing. Enjolras moves his fingers in and out spreading them and hoping he’s doing it right. He’d been told by his father that he’d know what to do when the time came, and at the time he hadn’t believed it. But now, now he knows just how to stretch Grantaire, how to be careful with him. Yes, he could probably use a bit of practice with his technique, but still. It’s enough for now.

His hand is dripping with Grantaire’s fluids and he humors himself for a moment, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking it clean, moaning at the taste of Grantaire in his mouth. When he opens his eyes, Grantaire is watching him with pupils blown wide.

“Fuck me,” he whispers. That’s all it takes really.

Enjolras is nothing but efficient. In a moment, he’s lining up and sliding in, slamming inside the tight, slick, heat of Grantaire’s body and letting out his own version of a dignified yell. He and Grantaire slot together perfectly, their bodies in perfect sync with the other. He moans and pulls out only to slam back in, Grantaire yelling and grasping onto the headboard as Enjolras gets a better grip on his hips and changes his angle as he goes back in. He hits something this time, and Grantaire turns into a sobbing mess, babbling nonsense as Enjolras hit that same spot over and over again. _Prostate_ , his mind helpfully provides, and Enjolras makes sure to hit it every other thrust or so, so as not to overwhelm Grantaire.

They don’t last long. Grantaire is so close to coming, Enjolras can smell it. Enjolras quickly turns them so Grantaire is on his stomach, his ass in the air, in Enjolras’ hands as he fucks into it. He wraps one hand around Grantaire’s waist, holding him to his body, his chest pressed to Grantaire’s back, and wraps his other hand around Grantaire’s dick, giving it a few pulls in time with his thrusts. Grantaire bites his own arm as he comes on the sheets, on Enjolras’ hand, up his chest. He’s still moaning and shivering when Enjolras thrusts fast into him, feeling his knot swell. He gets it in on one try, pushing hard, his stomach knotting at Grantaire’s weak cry of surprised but brief pain and discomfort. Enjolras turns them on their sides and fucks into Grantaire that way until Grantaire clenches around him and he comes, pumping him full of cum.

It’s quiet in the room except for their panting. They’re glued together with sweat, the knot keeping Enjolras stuck inside Grantaire for who-knows-how-long.  Enjolras wraps his arms around Grantaire, cradling him close, and Grantaire lets him. He takes that as a good sign and buries his face in the back of Grantaire’s neck for a moment, just breathing in the scent of him, until he hooks his chin over Grantaire’s shoulder, kissing his sweaty neck and the dried tears on his cheeks.

“Better?” he asks, his voice hoarse, and he tries not to be embarrassed about it.

Grantaire doesn’t answer, just stays silent. Then he says, “Did I just take your virginity?” very softly.

Enjolras huffs out a chuckle, and bites at the juncture of Grantaire’s neck and shoulder. “Fuck you,” he responds.

“Alpha bastard,” Grantaire says with a chuckle in response to the bite.

It takes about an hour for Enjolras’ knot to go down, and by that time, he’s had three more orgasms, Grantaire four. He slides out slowly, Grantaire still hissing at the loss. Grantaire flips onto his stomach once Enjolras is out, his head turned toward the other man. He looks exhausted, but overall alright. Enjolras turns onto his stomach as well, facing Grantaire, and then he slings his arm around the back of the other man’s waist, needing to touch him. He’s… quite happy right now. Enjolras feels complete.

Grantaire’s eyes are slowly falling shut, and Enjolras takes this as his shot to be completely out of character and a huge sap. He leans forward and brushes his lips against the corner of Grantaire’s eye, the side of his nose, the corner of his mouth, the edge of his cheek, letting his kisses trail across Grantaire’s cooling skin. He brushes their noses together, kissing Grantaire softly on the mouth before settling in close to him.

“Sap,” Grantaire mutters sleepily.

Enjolras laughs softly himself and says, “Go to sleep, R.”

So he does.

…

Enjolras wakes up alone. He tries not to be bothered by it and makes a mental note to tell Grantaire later on that he doesn’t like it much. Stretching the kinks out of his body, he slips into his trousers, boots and what he thinks it Grantaire’s t-shirt. He looks in the mirror over the bureau and smiles. This is good, Enjolras thinks. They’ve finally got themselves straightened out. He feels something blossoming in his chest, a warm feeling, and tries to put a name to it. When he struggles, he shakes his head. He’ll just ask Grantaire.

Enjolras finds him in the kitchen, sitting at the small table and staring down at the mug of tea in his hands. He’s pale and swallows hard when he hears Enjolras come into the room, and suddenly, there’s an ugly feeling in the pit of Enjolras’ stomach.

“Get out,” Grantaire says roughly.  Enjolras inhales sharply and swallows as he tries to make sense of what he’s just heard.  But Grantaire is merciless. “Get the fuck out,” he says, his voice stronger. When he looks up and at Enjolras, his eyes are hard. This is not a joke.

“I don’t understand…” Enjolras says, clearly waiting for an explanation and starting to feel hollow.

“Of course you don’t,” Grantaire laughs bitterly. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Get out.”

“Have you been drinking?” Enjolras asks. He’s biding his time, trying to see of Grantaire’s heat is still around. The man looks fine, which is odd. Enjolras could have sworn that Omega heats lasted at least three days.

Grantaire slams his cup down at the question, tea spilling all over the table. “What concern of yours is it if I drink or not?!” he yells. He stands up and kicks his chair back and begs, “Please, just – just go.” His voice falls to a whisper and Enjolras doesn’t stop for anything, he just walks out, down the stairs not even bothering to shut the door. If he hears crying from Grantaire’s flat as he runs out, he ignores it because it doesn’t make sense.

What the hell had he done wrong? Why did Grantaire suddenly hate him? He had seemed fine last night, but now…

Enjolras checks out for a while, aimlessly wandering downtown Paris. He sits on a bench for a while, he thinks, before he makes his way to a flat on the quieter side of town. He knocks on Combeferre’s door. Enjolras is unsurprised when Joly opens it. The beta makes a face.

“You look like death,” he muses. “Come in. And _oh_ ,” now Joly wrinkles his nose. “You smell like sex. Don’t… touch anything.” Enjolras walks in, still in a daze and sits on the couch. Combeferre walks in just as Joly walks out of the living and heads to the kitchen.

“What the hell is this?” he asks.

“He just came in, looks bad,” Joly says. “He’s _your_ best friend. _You_ deal with it. _I_ am making tea.” With that he disappears.

“Enjolras, what happened?” Combeferre asks, sitting down on the coffee table across from him.

Enjolras blinks for a few minutes before saying, “I-” And then he stops, unable to form words. “Grantaire went into heat,” he finally manages. Combeferre takes a moment to be shocked and Joly gasps as he walks in with tea.

“You didn’t…” Combeferre says.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Enjolras says, still staring out into space, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to be rational about it all. “He was fine with that but this morning…” He finally looks at Combeferre. “He kicked me out. Told me I had done enough and to just… go.” He had to have missed something. He had to have. This couldn’t just be a random occurrence, there needed to be a reason for Grantaire shoving him out the door. Enjolras jumps up and looks at Joly. “Do you have The Planner?” It’s a big dry-erase white board that they plan marches and meetings on. Combeferre usually takes it home with him.

Wordlessly, the other man stands and nods to Joly, who takes his place on the coffee table as Combeferre goes into a side room and gets The Planner. Enjolras stalks over to it, stealing a marker and setting to work. He writes down every day they’ve had, separated by month and tries to find a pattern, tries to think logically about matters of the heart. It took six months for them to kiss, three months for them to have sex (although that had been an accident). What was he supposed to expect? Was Grantaire going to approach him in a month and half? Was he going to come to him tomorrow? Was there some kind of mathematical pattern to what was going on here?

“It’s not… It’s not making sense,” Enjolras says, and even he thinks he sounds frustrated. His hand goes limp and the marker screeches across the board, a thick, black line cutting through everything he’s just written. “Why does my chest hurt?” he asks, suddenly, just realizing how much it pained him to breathe.

“I think,” Combeferre says gently, placing a careful hand on his shoulder, “I think what you’re feeling is hurt.” Logically, Enjolras knows that Combeferre knows what hurt feels like. After Eponine had realizes that Marius was too in love with Cosette to want her, she’d had a brief fling with Combeferre. It hadn’t worked out in the end, and she hadn’t been able to lie to him. Combeferre had understood, but it had hurt to let her go. He’d gotten Joly in the end, and he was happier, but still.

“It’s not hurt,” Enjolras manages to say as he falls onto the couch, plopping down like a stone. “My chest feels like it’s on fire,” he says, a hand going up to clutch at it. “It hurts to breathe and I – I don’t know what to do.” He slowly looks up at his two friends who share a quick look between them.

“I think what you’re feeling is heartbreak,” Joly says softly. Realistically, Enjolras knows that Joly knows what heartbreak feels like. He’d felt it when he realized a few years ago that his partner Bossuet and Musichetta were more invested in each other than they were him, and he had called off their ménage a troi himself to let them be happy together without any guilt. They were married and had a baby since then. Joly had loved them both so much, Enjolras had been made aware. He’d found comfort and eventually new love in Combeferre, but Joly still knew what it felt like.

“Why…” Enjolras can’t even finish his own sentences, and he swallows thickly. He knows exactly why. Grantaire.

“How long were you two knotted together?” Combeferre asks. He and Joly are both in the medical field. They’re used to speaking of such things and Enjolras feels no shame discussing it with either of them.

“A little over an hour,” he admits.

Joly’s eyes widen. “That’s enough to form a permanent bond, Enjorlas,” he says.

“And what if the other party doesn’t want it?” he ask, biting his lower lip in an attempt not to cry. Be an adult, he told himself. Be logical and rational and listen to them.

“Grantaire could be trying to distance himself from it, if that’s what happened,” Combeferre says. “We don’t really know what it feels like, so we can’t really know,” the beta says regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

Enjolras nods, his head spinning. “How long is an Omega’s heat for?”

“Three days at the least, a week at the most,” Joly says softly.

Enjolras lets out a strangled scream. It’s killing him, thinking of Grantaire alone in his apartment, locked away from the outside world, going through that agony by himself. Even if Grantaire just wanted him to keep him company and not touch him, Enjolras would have been glad to do that for him, to do anything for him.

“I need, I need to just,” Enjorlas says and he slumps over on the couch, getting dizzy.

“Hey, whoa, okay, we’ve got you,” Combeferre says, helping him lay down gently. “Joly grab a blanket for him, would you?”

“He stinks of sex!” Joly exclaims as he fetches one. “Ugh, I’m not touching him, not until he’s sanitized.”

“I wonder why I love you, sometimes,” Combeferre says fondly as he tucks the quilt around Enjolras and Enjolras doesn’t hear what Joly says in response. Oh, that’s what he’s feeling: _love_.

…

After two weeks of his calls and texts being ignored, Enjolras goes to Grantaire’s flat to try and talk to him. He doesn’t make it past the front door.

“Enjolras?” the landlord says. Enjolras nods, already sensing bad news. “I’ve been asked to ban you from the premises from one of my best tenants. I don’t know what you did, boy, but I don’t want you around here starting trouble. Get. Go on now, get!”

Enjolras is shooed out of the complex and he stands underneath one of Grantaire’s windows, looking up. He wants to shout and he does, only to have the landlord threaten to call the police on him and that is the last thing Enjolras needs coming out in the papers. He can see the headline now: _Leader of Les Amis Extremist Left Group Arrested for Disturbance of the Peace_. He goes back to the Musain and has a meeting, because that makes sense, that takes logic and critical thinking and rhetoric, all things Enjolras knows how to deal with. Not angry lovers and mates that don’t want him suddenly, out of the blue.

He doesn’t understand that world. Maybe he shouldn’t have meddled with it in the first place.

…

He goes to see Courfeyrac.

Well, no, Courfeyrac will not give him any kind of good advice, because the beta is a tremendous flirt, especially around his boyfriend. No, Enjolras is here, in fact, for the boyfriend, Jehan. He finds him in the garden, trimming their hedges and planting flowers. Enjolras tries not to snort at the blossoms entwined in the strawberry-blond braid down Jehan’s back. He will never understand how he does it.

“Did Courfeyrac braid your hair this morning?” Enjolras asks, half serious half joking.

“Yes!” Jehan exclaims, turning around with a handful of posies. He’s tall and broad, but he’s got such a sweet disposition. Enjolras would never like to see him angry. Jehan gives him a deep look and says, “How are you Enjolras?”

“I’ve… come for advice,” he admits.

“Love advice?” the poet asks with a small grin. Enjolras nods uncertainly. “Hmm. I’m afraid I cannot help you. With matters of the heart, I am biased and can give no solid advice. Everything is going so well for me, so I am afraid that I will just tell you to listen to your heart and wait it out. That won’t do at all, will it?”

“I…” Enjolras wants to say _I don’t know_ but he’s not a fan of saying those words, feels that he’s said them too much in the past few weeks. It’s almost been a month of not seeing Grantaire. He gets no responses to his texts or calls, gets no replies to his emails. He’d gone back to the flat, but the landlord had actually called the police on him and it had been a close chase. He’d escaped, but Enjolras knows he can’t go back there.

“All in good time,” Jehan says and goes back to his gardening. Courfeyrac comes out of their little apartment with sunscreen, smearing some onto the bridge of Jehan’s nose where he’s already got some sun freckles forming among the red skin.

Enjolras walks away.

…

The last person he tries, three weeks later, is Eponine. In all honesty, maybe he should have gone to her first. She is, after all, Grantaire’s best friend. Her face is stony when she sees him enter the shop she works at and throws his hands in the air, in a show of surrender.

“I just want to know if he’s okay,” Enjolras says carefully. It sounds fragile to his ears and he hates what Grantaire’s done to him.

“Why do you care?” Eponine snarls.

“ _He’s_ the one who kicked me out, alright?!” Enjolras yells.  He runs his hands through his blond hair and growls to himself. “Shit,” he says. “Just… if you see him…” he trails off. What is he doing? What the hell is he doing?

Enjolras walks out after that and doesn’t look back, heads to the Musain where everything makes sense, where he can logically explain why he isn’t winning an argument. He ignores the prick of tears in his eyes because he refuses to believe that this is what is left of him.

* * *

Eponine watches Enjolras go and then spins around to the back room when she’s sure he’s gone.

“You look like right shit, R,” she says. Grantaire is leaning against a wall, looking deathly pale and sick. “Are you sure you didn’t catch anything from him?”

“Virgin,” Grantaire says softly. “I could tell.”

“What’s all this I hear about you kicking him out then, huh?” she asks.

Grantaire laughs, and it’s cold and bitter. “I did us both a favor. He never wanted me in the first place. I don’t know what he was playing at, ‘Ponine. Just because he’s feeling guilty now-”

“You think that’s guilt?” Eponine exclaims. “That is the look and sound of a man who’s had his heart ripped out and is wondering what he did wrong to deserve it.”

“Enjolras doesn’t get his heart broken,” Grantaire says, though he’s starting to feel unsure. “Impossible.”

“He’s gone to all of our friends. All of them! Even Courfeyrac and Jehan. Now explain to me why you shoved him out of your life!” she demands.

“Why the _hell_ did he pick me?” Grantaire snaps. “For years he ignored me, for years he put me down and knew me only as the cynical lush that argued with him. And then suddenly, out of the blue, right when his stupid organization is going pristinely, he shows interest? I smell a rat, Eponine, and you can’t tell me you don’t.”

“You’re afraid,” she says softly.

“I don’t want to be lead on by the man I have been in love with for years, a man who I cannot believe actually has feelings like that for me,” Grantaire says. “I am _trying_ to protect my heart.”

“Grantaire,” she says and he’s suddenly moaning as the world spins and he leans all his weight on the wall, sliding to the floor. He vomits onto the tile, Eponine holding his curls away from his face, and when he’s finished, he clings to her and shakes. “How long?” she asks.

“A week?” he guesses.

“How much have you been drinking?”

“I’ve stopped,” he says. “I can’t hold it down anymore. My body doesn’t want it.  Driving me mad, actually,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I’m taking you to a hospital,” Eponine says but Grantaire grabs her hands and shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “No, give me a week, please. It’s nothing.”

She does give him the week, but only one.

…

It doesn’t stop, and Grantaire agrees to go get checked out. Eponine comes along because he refuses to go alone to this kind of thing. The physician is nice enough. He’s no Joly or Combeferre, but Grantaire thinks that’s just him missing everyone. It’s been about two months since he’s been to a Musain meeting, the first time he’s ever stayed away. He misses it.

Grantaire slowly recounts what’s been going on in his life. The physician tsks at the news that he’s a regular drinker, bordering alcoholism and suggests that maybe this is why Grantaire’s been feeling so sick. He freezes though once Grantaire gets to his sexual history and he hears about the missed suppressants and Alpha sex.

The physician wants a blood sample.

When he comes back, he looks conflicted and Grantaire feels the terror take him again.

“I am going to ask you to stop drinking and taking your suppressants. You’re not going to need them and they might… harm the fetus,” he says and Grantaire feels the world spin.

“Excuse me?” he asks, but then he can’t breathe because holy shit he’s pregnant and there is no one he has slept with for almost the past year because… because Enjolras has been courting him or whatever the hell it was. 

He’s pregnant with Enjolras’ baby.

“I think I’m going to vomit,” Grantaire says, clutching at a shocked Eponine.

“Are you the other parent?” the physician asks Eponine.

She shakes her head slowly and says, “No, I’m his best friend. A beta.” She looks just as caught out as Grantaire.

“I’m sorry,” the physician suddenly says. “I’ve been presumptuous.” He clears his throat and says delicately, “Are planning on carrying it to term or would you like to… terminate the fetus?”

Grantaire’s head snaps up as his hand comes up to his abdomen protectively and he growls out, “What the fuck? _No_. I’m having it.”

The physician puts his hands up. “Alright, alright. We just have to be sure. I’ll go get your vitamins together and a list of things to do and not to do. I’ll also schedule an appointment with an obstetrician for you.” He leaves and it’s just him and Eponine.

Grantaire cries.

“Oh fuck,” he swears. “This is exactly what he doesn’t need. He doesn’t want a child. When his group is doing so well and getting so far, he doesn’t need to be dragged down by this. He won’t even want this.” He looks at Eponine, terrified and feeling strangely alone. “’Ponine. What do I do? How do I do this alone?”

“You need to tell him,” Eponine says carefully.

“Did you not just hear me?” Grantaire snarls. “How do you think the leader of an extremist governmental group is going to react to hearing that the town drunk has gotten knocked up with his child? You think he wants another responsibility? You think he has time for children and childrearing?”

“Grantaire, you’ll have a better chance at getting through this with him,” she tries to reason but he won’t have it.

“Or, like I said before, he is going to turn me out, or worse! Who knows?” He feels the fear take him again. Oh god, he can’t have a child. He is going to fuck the poor thing up so much, and he won’t mean to but it won’t matter. That’s just who he is. He can’t handle it.

“Grantaire-”

“Eponine, I can’t,” he says and that’s the end of that. Or so he thinks.

“He was talking to Gavroche once,” Eponine continues, as if he hasn’t spoken. Grantaire scowls. “He said that sometimes, when people are scared, they do stupid things and they try to mean them, though in the end they don’t.” She pauses as if to make sure he’s paying attention and yes, damn it, despite his better judgment, he is. “Gav took that to mean that he tried to stop himself from falling for you because you weren’t what he expected. So he was cruel, sometimes because he was afraid, sometimes because that’s just who he was. But it never worked, is the point he made,” she says earnestly. “He could never hate you and gave up on it when things were starting to look up.”

“Shut up,” Grantaire snaps, feeling guilt and hurt and just – utter betrayal at her words.

“Grantaire,” Eponine almost begs. Eponine is the most independent badass individual he has ever met. She does not beg, and she especially does not beg _him_. There is definitely something wrong.

“Stop, please stop,” Grantaire says, with so much kindness and gentleness that even he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. “I’m tired and I’m afraid and I just want to go home. Let me have that.”

Surprisingly, she does.

…

Grantaire doesn’t know why he does it or how he convinces Eponine to take him, but the next thing he knows, the next day he’s at the Musain, before the next meeting. Eponine watches his eyes follow someone’s beer bottle and she sighs.

“You can’t,” she says.

“I know,” he says quietly, still reveling in the fact that there is a tiny human being with Enjolras’ DNA inside of him. It’s a mind-fuck, if ever there was one.

“Here,” she says, going to the back and getting him a beer bottle. His face is completely horrified. She rolls her eyes. “Taste it.”

He does. It’s apple juice.

“Really?” he says.

“So people don’t get suspicious. You don’t have a sketchbook with you, and it’ll seem weird if you’re not drinking,” she reasons. She’s right of course, and he takes another sip of his apple-juice-in-disguise. It’s his favorite, actually.

Grantaire takes a booth in the back, tries not to remember whether or not it was the booth Enjolras first asked him out in. He sits and he nurses his apple juice and as Les Amis start to trail in, one by one they notice him and say hello. Courfeyrac gets over excited and waves, while Jehan just leaves him a flower in place of a hello. Combeferre regards him suspiciously and Joly asks him how he is. Apparently, he looks sick. If only the other man knew.

Marius and Cosette are there and spare him a few moments of conversation before moving on to the others. Bahorel offers Grantaire a drink, and after panicking for a moment, Grantaire lifts his apple-juice-filled bottle and declines the offer. In an attempt to be funny and welcome him back, Feuilly fans him and hums a little French diddy.

Fuck, he’s missed them.

It’s an unspoken rule among them all not to tell Enjolras that Grantaire is creeping in the back, so when the other man walks in, he’s completely unaware of Grantaire’s existence. Of course, this means he sets up shop a few tables away, close enough that Grantaire can hear every word he’s saying and smell him. He smells like home and it aches, it really does. For a moment, Enjolras looks up and around – Grantaire noticing that he’s wearing the shirt he took from Grantaire’s that day he left (you kicked him out, a little voice in his head says) –as if he can smell Grantaire on the air as well, and Grantaire ducks down in his booth until the moment passes. He can’t help but observe that Enjolras looks quite sad.

Things get weird when Musichetta and Bossuet come in though. They aren’t regulars to the meetings, but they come once in a while. Musichetta is carrying… holy shit is that a baby?

Grantaire feels sick to his stomach. Oh god, this has been his worst idea yet. Why did he think it was okay to come back here? He should have been making a clean break or something. Not watching his old friends come with their children as he presses a hand to his own abdomen and thinks of the small thing growing inside of him.

Joly is the first to greet his old lovers and it’s low-key and gentle, nothing odd or out of the ordinary. He’s gotten over it, Grantaire knows. Combeferre is there though, because he knows his boyfriend; even though he’s a beta, he knows.

It’s strange though, because Musichetta makes her way to Enjolras with the baby while Bossuet stays and catches up with Joly and the others. She makes her way to Enjolras and when he looks up and sees her with the baby _he fucking smiles._

Grantaire never knew someone could look so beautiful and happy.

“Who’s this?” Enjolras asks, making grabby hands toward the infant and oh god, what the hell is going on? Grantaire’s mind cannot comprehend this.

“Francis,” Musichetta says. She pauses. “Well, François. But that’s just Bossuet being extravagant. I call him my baby Francis.”

“May I?” Enjolras says, still with the grabby hands and Grantaire is going to scream. Musichetta hands him the baby and he fucking melts into it. At first, Enjolras is way too eager and the baby gets a bit spooked, looking for his mother. After a minute though, he realizes that Enjolras is no threat and is actually a huge ass sap.

Grantaire is going to vomit. _Enjolras likes kids._ Holy fuck.

Musichetta laughs and says as much, to which Enjolras responds, “Of course. They’re the future, they’re what I fight for and where we put all of our faith. And isn’t it just wonderful that you’ve created something with someone you love?” he asks, sounding wistful. Slowly but surely, Grantaire is falling in hate with himself.

“Will you ever settle down Enjolras? It will take a special person to do so,” Musichetta says smiling as Francis grabs at Enjolras’ hair.

“ _Ow_ , no, no, no,” Enjolras says to the baby, gently taking Francis’ hand from his hair, smiling. “That’s no good.” He kisses the center of Francis’ palm when the baby goes for Enjolras’ hair again, stopping it in its path. “I want to. I mean, I will. I … have someone,” he says and Grantaire feels his chest explode as he listens. “We’re… I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to fix it. The only explanation is that I did something wrong.” He shrugs and gently sways Francis, still getting the hang of it. “He’s is wonderful. And I care for him very much.”

“More than the cause?” Musichetta teases, but both she and Grantaire hold their breath when Enjolras doesn’t correct her. “Enjolras,” she says, surprised.

“Pathetic, I know,” he says and laughs. “But when we have a child, it’s going to be gorgeous and perfect. Much like little François here.” He hands the infant back. “I do have someone out there,” he says, sounding determined, as if he refuses to fail at this. Grantaire finally gets the courage to look up and…

…and Enjolras is staring right back at him, eyes wide in shock.

“Grantaire?” he says softly, sounding all kinds of conflicted.

And Grantaire, who has never been good with things like this, squeezes the neck of his beer bottle and runs to the back room of the café, missing the frown that comes to Enjolras’ face.

* * *

Grantaire is here. _Grantaire is here_ and Enjolras has no idea why. Or why he ran. Oh god, did he hear what he was saying to Musichetta? Fuck. Yes, he sounded optimistic, you could say, but that was only because he is completely refusing to lose Grantaire because of this. He still has no idea what this is, but still. He may have actually just fucked it up for real.

Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras sees Eponine follow Grantaire into the back and he can’t help it. He’s a curious little shit by nature, that’s how he got involved in all of this revolutionary rebellion stuff. He follows them. Logically, he knows it’s wrong. Realistically, he knows he doesn’t give a shit because Grantaire is here and his chest is aching with the thought of it. He wants to hold the other man close and make sure he’s alright. He wants him, bottom line, plain and simple.

Fuck. No wonder it took him so long to listen to his feelings. _Emotions suck_.

Enjolras explains the days outline to Combeferre and then makes his way to the back, waving off several concerned glances. Marius, in particular, looks like he’s constipated or something to that effect. Either way, he ignores them and makes his way toward where he can hear… is that yelling? Are they seriously yelling at each other?

“What the hell is your problem, Grantaire!?” Eponine yells. At the tone of her voice, Enjolras wants to go in there and tell her to knock it off or else he’s going to do something rash. The tug in his chest at the sound of her disrespecting Grantaire is not pretty.

Grantaire’s answer snaps him out of it though. “He likes kids,” Grantaire says and he laughs. There’s a bitter edge to it, one Enjolras has become familiar with over the months they’ve been with each other. He doesn’t know why that’s such a bad thing. Did Grantaire think his Alpha couldn’t protect him? Or any of their future children? Had Enjolras’ actions hinted toward that? How is that Enjolras can convince a stadium of people he has never met that together they can easily change the world yet, he can’t convince the man he’s been with for almost a year and has known for longer than that  that he is going to stay and Enjolras cares about him?

“That’s a good thing!” Eponine screeches. Grantaire chokes on a sob and it takes all of Enjolras’ strength not to go in there immediately and attempt to comfort him. “Oh god, now what?” Eponine says.

“He’s going to hate me for not telling him sooner!” Grantaire says back and now Enjolras has completely lost track of the situation. What the hell are they talking about?

“You just found out yesterday! And you’ve been upset with him, stupidly, so you weren’t talking and-”

“Stop defending me!” Grantaire yells, cutting her off. “I don’t deserve to be defended. I fucked up and now I’m going to have to just lie in my fucking bed and deal with it.” Enjolras hates that. He hates it when Grantaire puts himself down. He is such a brilliant fucking individual and he constantly puts himself down. “It’s not like he wants me anymore,” but Enjolras can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Oh fuck you,” Eponine snaps and even Enjolras is surprised. She’s never taken that tone with Grantaire. “I know you heard him, everyone heard him talking to Musichetta!” Enjolras cringes. Oh shit. “We all know he was talking about _you_.” _Yes_ , he thinks to himself, _I can’t convince him, Eponine, but you can._ “Grantaire,” she says and there’s a sneaking sense of finality in her voice. “If you don’t tell him, I will.”

There’s a gasp Enjolras is sure it’s coming from Grantaire. “You wouldn’t dare. That is not your secret to tell.”

“Just fucking watch me!” she screams. “I have seen you deny yourself the things you are so desperate for. I let it go, but now I can’t. I can’t sit back and watch you let him slip away. It may be new, foreign and fucking terrifying, but you two are good together. So get over yourself and go talk to him!”

“Or I can just come in, yeah?” Enjolras says, pushing past the door and walking in. He’s sick of his silence and he’s ready to fix whatever the hell he’s done. The look on Grantaire’s face is priceless and Eponine just looks infinitely smug.

“I’ll be waiting up front. Come talk to me when you’ve sorted your shit out,” she snarks, then pushes past Enjolras, closing the door behind her. It’s just the two of them in the back room now, cut off from the rest of the world. There’s not much back here, just a desk pushed to the back wall and boxes of product everywhere.

               It’s been so long. _Two months,_ Enjolras reminds himself. Two months since he’s been this close to Grantaire and all he wants to do is hold him and shake some sense into him. But there must be something wrong.  Grantaire is pale and peaky, dark circles smudged under his eyes. He’s clutching a beer bottle tightly in one hand, his knuckles turning white. Maybe he really just doesn’t want Enjolras. Maybe trying to reason with him was a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” he says at the same time that Grantaire does and then they just stand there, staring at each other again. There’s about a foot and a half of space between them and Enjolras doesn’t know if he’s allowed closer. Grantaire looks like a deer caught in the headlights, a large, floppy sweater hanging off of his thin frame. His eyes are wide, like he doesn’t know what to say, so Enjolras takes this as his cue to swoop in and just say what he needs to say. He’s never been one to beat around the bush.

“Whatever I did, whatever I said to make you want to leave, I apologize,” Enjolras says and Grantaire’s mouth snaps shut as he stares on with wide eyes. “But please tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to make it up to you. Tell me, just.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “For once in my life I am at a loss, Grantaire. And I have tried to get your attention again, tried to tell you that yes, yes I do care. I’m sorry that it took so long and that I was the worst to you and I can promise you I’ll probably still be the worst, on occasion. But,” and now he pulls at his hair. “You get under my skin. I am no longer the calm and composed individual I was. I just, if I ever had you, I want you back and I will do anything in my power to repent for what I’ve done.”

He finally thinks to hell with it and steps closer to Grantaire, who doesn’t move in the least. He stands there, frozen, and Enjolras keeps speaking.

“I – I want you,” he says. “No, wait, that sounded pathetic, but shit, it’s the truth. I have started to learn how to compartmentalize. The Cause is one aspect of my life, and you are a completely different aspect. You don’t have to overlap and I was a fool for a very long time thinking that they were the same thing. They’re not. I can love you and still love France. You’re not an idea or a country, why should I hold you and my feelings for you to the same standards? Let me try with you, again, this time properly vocalizing my intentions exactly. I want a life with you, if possible. I want…” He swallows hard, pressing a hand to the center of his chest. “I want out mating bond to mean something. Please let me try.” Grantaire is silent, eyes widening ever still. Maybe he has fucked it up. Oh god, this is the complete-

“I’m pregnant,” Grantaire says and Enjolras feels all of the breath slam out of his body with those two words.

“Excuse me?” he asks, his mind absolutely dazed. Had Grantaire just that he was…?

“I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you and I’m pregnant with your child,” Grantaire blurts and Enjolras thinks he’s going to faint, except Grantaire actually _does_. His eyes roll back into his head and Enjolras bursts forward, catching him in his arms before he can face-plant on the ground and Grantaire is pregnant with his child. Grantaire is in love with him, Enjolras can’t live without him and _Grantaire is pregnant with his child_. Enjolras’ baby is inside of Grantaire, the only Omega who has ever made him want anything even remotely domestic. They are having a baby. There is a baby, a real live, human baby inside of Grantaire. Enjolras is going to be a father, they are going to be parents together, Grantaire admitted he was in love with Enjolras for years and everything is starting to make sense.

“You thought I was playing you,” he says hoarsely as he feels Grantaire’s eyes blink open against the skin of his neck. “You’ve wanted me all this time and you thought I was playing you.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says and Enjolras has no idea what the hell he’s apologizing for.

“You should have said something,” Enjolras says, something he can’t recognize setting in. It makes his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. Is this what panic feels like? “I would have assured you, I would have done _something_. Grantaire-”

“I think I’m going to vomit,” Grantaire admits, then moans against his shoulder. He’s clutching at Enjolras with one hand, the other holding his beer bottle and –

Wait a fucking second, Grantaire knows he’s pregnant and he’s _fucking drinking_?

“What the actual _fuck_ Grantaire?” Enjolras says, pulling back enough to see Grantaire’s pale face. “Are you fucking _drinking_?”

There’s a look of surprise on Grantaire’s face before he blinks back to himself and mumbles, “No. Try it.” He hands Enjolras the bottle and Enjolras takes a quick swig, trying not to hit anything or to yell in anger. He’s glad to say he tastes apple juice. Which he hates, but it’s better than alcohol so he relaxes.

“Oh thank god,” he says softly against Grantaire’s hair.

“Do you really think I would put your child in danger like that?” Grantaire snarls suddenly, pulling away from him. “Fuck you,” he says, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “Everything I do, I do it for you, and I know that’s from a fucking song, but it’s fucking true. Don’t you ever think I would ever do something purposeful to put your baby at risk like that.” He’s red in the face and panting for breath when he finishes and Enjolras has never seen anything more beautiful.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says and Grantaire starts at that. Then he laughs and no, wait, he’s crying now.

“Oh fuck me,” he says under his breath.

“I already have,” Enjolras admits with a small smile. When he gets a wet chuckle from Grantaire, he feels as though he’s won something huge.

“I take you actually want a part of this baby’s life then?” Grantaire says softly. When he looks up, his eyes are red and he’s afraid. Enjolras knows he’s afraid. He can practically smell it on him.

“I want a part of your life as well if you’ll let me have it,” he says, swallowing hard and getting closer again. He doesn’t know how to do any of this, but he’s willing to learn if he gets to learn it with Grantaire. “Didn’t you hear my whole speech back there?” he asks.

“Yeah but…” Grantaire closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Hard to believe is all.”

“Believe it,” Enjolras says firmly, wrapping his arms around Grantaire. “I bonded with you that night, you have to have felt it,” he says. He feels Grantaire nod against his collarbone. “Then why did you run?”

“I already told you. I thought you were playing me. God knows I’d have deserved it,” Grantaire says. “I haven’t been keeping this from you for months or anything. I only found out yesterday. Don’t think I’d…” He stops. “Well, actually I was thinking I’d have to hide the child from you. Who knew you liked kids?” Grantaire tries to laugh but it sounds forced.

At the thought of Grantaire disappearing and taking their child with him, Enjolras feels something tear in his chest. It might just be his heart. “I regret ever making you feel that you had to,” he says softly. “And yes. I love children. Children are our future, they’re-”

“I heard you talking to Musichetta,” Grantaire cuts him off with. “Is that… are you serious? About that? About me?”

Enjolras scoffs. “Can you not feel it in our bond? Grantaire-”

“Humor me,” he says.

“Of course I’m serious,” Enjolras says with a huff and an eye roll. “That’s our baby, correct? My baby and your baby? Ours.”

“Yes,” Grantaire says, one of his hands dropping low onto his abdomen.

“And you love me?” Enjolras asks.

“Always,” Grantaire says, as though it physically pains him to do so. “Oh god this is so hard to admit, I’ve spent too long trying not to say anything.”

“Times up,” Enjolras says. “No more hiding.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “No more hiding. And I’m sorry for… kicking you out.” He doesn’t look up as he says it.

“I’m sorry for making you think you had to,” Enjolras says.

“You didn’t!” Grantaire snaps, looking up sharply. “I freaked out. And then this happened and I couldn’t stay away and I’m an idiot. A drunken, lush idiot.”

“I love said idiot,” Enjolras says with a raise of his eyebrow. “Said idiot is _carrying my child_ ,” he says in belated amazement. Enjolras freezes again and repeats over and over in his head that he is having a baby with Grantaire and that they are going to be parents. Grantaire gives him a worried look.

“Do you… need a minute? To process. Again,” Grantaire says carefully.

“I just – A baby,” Enjolras says.

“Yes,” Grantaire says. He smiles wryly. “I still haven’t wrapped my head around it myself.”

“You’re moving in with me then?” Enjolras says out of the blue, his mind already jumping to living arrangement possibilities. “Or, actually, we should just get a place of our own. Musichetta and Bossuet were looking for a place and my lease is up next month, so I can just transfer that to them.”

Grantaire looks at him in shock. “I… wait, what? We were talking about the baby, why are we talking about flats?” He swallows hard and Enjolras immediately gets overprotective, holding him close and running a hand through his hair. “Baby, right. Whoa. Sorry, I’m getting used to it too.”

“I want a life with you, that means I want to live with you,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire stares at him for a moment then nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Enjolras asks, just to be sure, a stupid smile on his face. The responding smile Grantaire gives him is soft and gentle and it makes his heart hurt.

“Okay,” Grantaire reassures him. “Now we have to tell the others.”

“We don’t have to,” Enjolras says carefully. “Not yet, if you don’t want to.” Enjolras wants to though, he really does. He wants to brag to everyone about his baby and his mate, how they’re perfect and _his_ , all his.

“You’re practically vibrating out of your skin, Apollo,” Grantaire says skeptically and yes, there is no one who knows him better than Grantaire. “I know an eager god when I see one.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snipes, but it’s not harsh, not at all. “Off we go then.”

Enjolras leads Grantaire to the door to the café, hand tightly held in his. It’s going to take some getting used to, having Grantaire back. But it’ll be fine, he knows it will be. They’ll argue and they’ll fight but they will always have each other.

“Almost forgot,” Enjolras says, turning around before they walk out. He leans down and kisses Grantaire slowly, softly, savoring the taste of mint toothpaste and apple juice. Grantaire lets out a surprised huff, but kisses back, curling his fingers in Enjolras’ hair. “Much better,” Enjolras says.

“Bastard,” is all Grantaire has time left to say before Enjolras is kissing him again.

In all honesty, it feels like coming home.

…

They walk out hand in hand and the meeting is already over. Café regulars are sitting around, the baristas cleaning tables and counters. Their friends are still there though, and Enjolras slips into his abandoned booth with Grantaire by his side. Grantaire rests against him, his head lolling onto Enjolras’ shoulder and Enjolras smiles to himself, turning his head to kiss Grantaire’s temple.

Eponine looks positively excited at the sight. She taps Combeferre and Joly, whispering something to them and they smile as well. Marius smiles and Cosette waves to them, as if nothing was wrong in the first place. The others gravitate toward them with cautious smiles on their faces, as if they’re not sure if everything is resolved or not.

“You guys… good?” Courfeyrac asks haltingly.

“Yeah,” Enjolras answers, a stupid smile coming to his face. “Never better.” He pauses then looks down to Grantaire. “I actually have never been better. Do you just want to leave?” The others can wait, he decides.

“Oh, but don’t you want to hear Jehan squeal?” Grantaire says, his voice dripping with sarcasm and something else, something like fondness for Enjolras and Enjolras can feel his stomach twisting up at the sound.

“Excuse me!” Jehan protests. “I am not going to-”

“We’re having a baby,” Grantaire says dryly, staring right at the poet with a raised eyebrow.

Jehan squeals.

Yeah. They’re going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> This fucking thing got out of hand and I'm turning it into a verse so a second part of their pregnant escapades is coming and it will be full of angst and fluff and be here by the time the week is out. 
> 
> In other news, you can find me on tumblr - in two places actually. 
> 
> One is my personal blog which is not working with linking so i'm thehobbits-thehobbits-toisengard. Check me out there.
> 
> The other is the Les Miserables blog that I do Photoshop stuff all Les Mis based: [asofterrevolution](http://asofterrevolution.tumblr.com)
> 
> Okay. Peace out, folks. 
> 
> P.S. Do tell if there are any mistakes. I'd love to know, thanks.


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